


between your heart and mine

by tsunderestorm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Alternating, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: “Be quiet, Sylvain. Guess what? You didn’t fuck it up with me. We’re together now, asshole, and that’s that. Stop worrying about shit you did in the past when that’s all dead and buried. Worry about now. Worry about our future. We’remarried.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 188





	between your heart and mine

**Author's Note:**

> Just what it says on the tin - Felix and Sylvain's wedding night. Some porn, and some feelings. Maybe more feelings than porn, but still good.
> 
> Felix is trans; this uses cunt, clit, dick, hole, etc. interchangeably. Felix doesn't make a huge deal out of it.

The Fraldarius estate was even bigger than the Gautier manor, and still it felt more welcoming. It was chilly, sure, but Felix’s ancestral lands didn’t have the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and sucked the air out of your lungs. The mansion house felt warmer, too, with more fires warming its expanse of rooms than normal, with their friends and loved ones tucked in for the night after a celebration that had lasted well into the early morning. It felt warmer, Sylvain thought, with Felix beside him, retired to what was now _their _suite of rooms.

“Now that we’re married, what are we?” Sylvain asked as he shut and bolted the heavy door behind him.

Felix looked up at him from across the room, unlacing one of his boots and tugging it off, giving him a look that said: _what the fuck_.

“Does this make you a Margrave now? Or am I a Duke?” Sylvain repeated, elaborating on his question as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the foot of the bed. “I just wanna know.”

“It makes you a Margrave, and me a Duke.” Felix snapped, voice colder than the winds that swirled at the farthest reaches of northern Faerghus. “The same as we were before.”

Sylvain’s expression of playful curiosity dissolved into a frown, watching Felix toss his boots in the direction of his wardrobe and shrug off the cape he’d draped artfully across his shoulder. He looked more beautiful than he ever had in the shifting light of the fire crackling in the grate; his hair more indigo than black, his eyes dark and sincere, a flush from the wine they’d consumed still clinging to his cheeks. He didn’t know what Felix was getting at - everything had changed, and everything was different. It wasn’t every day that the Shield of Faerghus’ successor married Margrave Gautier.

“... huh?”

Felix scoffed, shooting a sharp glare his direction. “This doesn’t make us anything but ourselves, don’t you understand that? You’re not losing a piece of yourself because we got married.”

Sylvain laughed, mostly because he couldn’t think of a better way to react. Yeah, he knew that. Uh… mostly. It was different with Felix, of course, but he supposed that years and years of being terrified that he’d be lauded as some kind of trophy had left him skittish. He hadn’t meant the question… _like that_… just like a joke, really, but it had obviously been enough to make Felix’s voice go cold and clipped, and that was the last thing he wanted tonight.

Running a hand through his hair to restore it from “wedding appropriate” (Ingrid’s words, not his own) to his customary handsome, “I maybe just had sex” tousle, he let out a nervous laugh. “I get it, yeah. It was just a joke, Felix.”

“It’s not a joke with you, and you damn well know it,” Felix said, pacing in front of the fireplace, kicking his favorite sword belt out of his path as he padded across the warm stones. “You’re Margrave Gautier, and I’m Duke Fraldarius. You’re Sylvain, and I’m Felix. We’re the same damn people. We’re just _together_.”

Felix understood why Sylvain was like this. Truly, he did. It had been different for Sylvain, being the one with the Crest, the one with the future, the one whose dad used to parade him in front of noble women and their daughters alike as if he were some kind of prize. It had been a year since Sylvain’s father had died and still, the stinging mark of every manipulation and expectation was still etched into the surface of his soul like a lash.

It was different, though, with them. It had always been different. Felix didn’t give a shit about Sylvain’s crest, or his bloodline, or any of the things that made him prized breeding stock in the eyes of the crowds of noble sheep. He cared about the way Sylvain’s eyes shone like dark honey in the dancing firelight, the way his hands still followed every plane of Felix’s battle-hardened body like they were mapping new territory. He cared about _Sylvain_, not the heir of Gautier.

“Yeah, yeah… you’re right. I don’t know why I was being so dumb.” Sylvain conceded, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the floor, suddenly all too interested in the patterns the mortar created between the stones. It wasn’t something he’d always been able to say, but now he liked to think he’d learned when to drop it. It was a useful talent, he had to admit, and it was easier to unlace his boot and let Felix cool down than it was to argue, or even to peacefully disagree. Not tonight.

Sylvain brushed it off like he did everything else, and Felix couldn’t take it. That flippant, laugh-it-off and it’ll be fine, crack a grin and the light of your smile will blind everyone to the truth way of living.

He whirled around and spat, “Don’t you get that? I’m here to be your husband, not take your damn identity away. All those years you were so scared of everything. Of being used for your Crest, of being forced into a marriage you didn’t want. Scared of losing yourself.”

Sylvain stared at him, open-mouthed, almost falling off-balance from where he had paused as if frozen, halfway through pulling off his remaining boot and standing on one foot like some bizarre bird. “Wow, I. Uh -”

Felix cut him off. “Do you feel lost, now?”

“No… “ Sylvain said sheepishly, shrugging off his cloak and nudging his discarded boots out of the way under the bed. “Listen, I’m sorry. I just... didn’t even know who I was, Fe. How could I have expected anyone to see _me_ when I wasn’t even sure who I wanted to be?

“Because it’s basic decency?” Felix offered icily. “Because you’re a person and not a trophy? Because as long as we’re not _neglecting Dimitri _or anything, we’re free to choose our own future and no one gave you the time to do that.I know you still don’t know what you want. Now that you’ve resolved everything with Sreng, what do you do? You have no clue. You jumped into this marriage with me because it was what you wanted and you don’t even know what your place in this new world we built is. But I do. I’ve always known who you are and what you want. I’ve always seen past your brother’s skeleton hanging in your closet to the terrified kid hiding behind it.”

Sylvain didn’t know how to react. In moments like this Felix was like a force of nature; a hurricane blown in off the coast, a dust storm in the desert, a blizzard with cutting wind and blinding snow. The thing about Felix was that his passion bubbled so close to the surface that when it spilled over, he didn’t hold anything back.

“I’ve always seen you. It was you who didn’t always see _me_,” Felix said, a little sadly. His expression quickly sharpened into the face Sylvain knew meant he thought he’d said too much. He’d wall off, turn spiny and untouchable, protect himself the way he had for years.

Sylvain stepped towards him tentatively, delicate. “That’s not true. I’ve always seen you, Felix.”

“Could have fooled me.”

_Ouch. _That hurt more than anything Felix could have said about him. He could take any insult and weather any blow, but the mere implication that Felix may have ever doubted how absolutely, stupidly head over heels for him he had always been, stung like a salted wound.

Sylvain knew what he meant, though. The girls, the lying, acting like everything was fine even when it wasn’t (and when he knew full damn well that even Felix could tell that it wasn’t) on top of the general insincerity and refusal to commit did not a trustworthy Sylvain make. They’d had goddess-knows how many late-night conversations about this exact thing, the kind where they’d lay in the dark, cradling their hearts in each other’s hands and saying things they wouldn’t repeat the next day, pressing their foreheads together and learning to heal.

He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to feel weightless and giddy again, instead of nauseated and guilty for ever having been a person Felix did not want to spend the rest of his life with. “You know when you fuck something up so bad, and you know that you need to stop but you just can’t, so then you just feel somehow compelled to fuck it up more?”

Felix looked at him, crossing his arms over his chest. It wasn't that he was jealous. Or angry, or resentful, or all the things he may pretend to be… or may have truly been, when they were younger. When Sylvain had flirted with every girl that passed him by and wondered why Felix didn’t take him seriously when he crawled into his bed and whispered poems into his neck and when he’d kissed him so deeply that every love sound and shaky breath that Felix exhaled had been sustenance for Sylvain’s own lungs. Deep down, he knew what Sylvain was saying was true, as insincere as it seemed based on his less-than-spotless track record. Mostly, he was just fed up with Sylvain’s bullshit, or rather, he was fed up with Sylvain acting like Felix didn’t perfectly _understand _his unique brand of bullshit. He always had, and he hated Sylvain feeling like he needed to apologize for shit he’d done at seventeen, or even at twenty-four. Fuck that.

Sylvain continued on, though; stuttering out his words the way he did when he actually meant something. Felix could practically _see_ his heart on his sleeve, bleeding and bare, dripping blood down the sleeve of his tunic. He wanted to tell him to stop. He _needed _him to stop. Sylvain was too damn much when he got like this, all plaintive and whiny with his big, brown puppy-dog eyes that Felix knew worked on everyone.

“... and after a while you’ve just fucked it up so much that you’ve realized that there’s never going to be a way to _un-_fuck it, so you just resign yourself to this bed that you’ve made that you know you deserve and accept that the guy of your dreams probably isn’t ever going to actually take you seriously and that your lost chance to sweep him into your arms and run away from everything your parents want for you is just another fuckup in a long list of fuckups that no one is responsible for but you so you just. _Keep_ _fucking them up._”

Felix knew all of this, of course. He’d always known the way Sylvain was, the way that they both were: scarred children who’d grown into stunted adults, hungry for a future they could control and, before the war at least, powerless to do it. How they’d always coped in their own ways, and fuck anyone else who told them they were wrong.

“Then it all comes down to you having this reputation that you’re a fuckup and you kind of like it, in a way, because it keeps people from getting too close and you don’t even care when everyone starts saying you’re trash, and then for some reason the guy you’ve been in love with since you were a kid actually agrees to marry you for some reason and then you wonder how you didn’t fuck that up too - “

Felix had heard enough. He grabbed Sylvain’s chin in his hand, forcing him to meet his eyes as he said, “Be quiet, Sylvain. Guess what? You didn’t fuck it up with me. We’re together now, asshole, and that’s that. Stop worrying about shit you did in the past when that’s all dead and buried. Worry about _now_. Worry about our future. We’re _married_.”

Sylvain sat down in a chair in front of the fireplace, easy and relaxed. _Married…_ fuck, that was a heavy word. He’d spent his whole life figuring he’d end up married to a woman from some noble family, made to grin and bear it as they put his kids through Crest testing (which, by the way, he still wasn’t sure on the ethics of) and forced to live with the knowledge that she was talking about his impeccable bloodline and her great fortune with her friends over tea. He’d never imagined that he’d end up married to _Felix._

It was still kind of hard to wrap his head around the fact that this wasn’t all a dream. That there was no more Gautier territory and Fraldarius territory, there was… Gautier-Fraldarius territory. That he and quite possibly the most unapproachable noble in all of Fódlan had matching rings on their fingers; that King Dimitri had blessed their union and wrapped a braided cord around their clasped hands. This seriously wasn’t a dream?

It had sure felt like one when they’d taken Enbarr, when it had all been done. A flash of Felix’s sword and a glimpse of the deep teal of his cape as he marched off somewhere after Dimitri had assured Sylvain he was safe, and when Dimitri had scooped the Professor and Felix up in his arms and kissed both of their cheeks Sylvain realized that it really was over. They could sleep curled up together that night (as they’d done every night since reuniting at the monastery) and know that they’d wake up in the morning to a peaceful Fódlan.

He’d been doing his best to help Mercedes tend to the wounded with what little aptitude for faith that he had… inexpert, but hey, he made up in sincerity. Felix came crashing into his arms, his kisses all tongue and teeth and effervescent, honest relief. It had felt so new, so raw and unexpected when he’d taken a good, long look at Felix standing beside Dimitri as he addressed their remaining troops and realized that he wanted to marry him.

Even more of a dream when he’d realized that, unlike other things he’d thought he’d wanted in the past, he was actually willing to work for it.

Even more, still, when Felix had actually said yes. (In his own Felix way, at least: “_Do you think if I actually got married, I’d marry anyone else, stupid?”_)

Felix leaned over him, tearing him back to focus with a hand on the back of the chair, his face inches from Sylvain’s. “Are you going to sit in a chair and stare into thin air all night? Because if you are, I’ve got better things to do.”

The words were bait. A threat that belied a promise, trying to get him to rise to it.

(Ideally something would rise before the night was over. Fuck, he was glad he hadn’t said that out loud. Felix probably never would have forgiven him for that one. Wedding night or not, and how badly he knew Felix craved him aside, he’d probably earn a scathing glare and a cold bed for that one.)

“I could be training or working on some of those _stupid_ political things my old man left for me in his study, or, I don’t know, anything else. But I’m here with you, like tonight is supposed to be something special or something… “

Sylvain tipped his head back, looking up at his husband and pushing his lips close to his. “You’re really gonna be that way? On our wedding night?”

“I’ll be ‘_that way’_ every day for the rest of your damn life,” Felix scoffed, placing his palm flat against Sylvain’s chest and shoving him back into the chair as he said, “and you’ll thank whatever force of nature we’re praying to this moon for it.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Felix Fraldarius-Gautier.”

“Call me that again and I’ll slice you to bits,” Felix threatened, but Sylvain caught the way his face flushed anew, a pretty pink dusted across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “It sounds so stupid.”

“Hey, _you_ agreed to it! I gave you plenty of time to get out while you still could…”

Felix grabbed Sylvain’s face again, fist tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck and jerking his head back as he stared down at him. “Don’t talk like that,” he snarled, brow furrowing when Sylvain winced. “Not tonight. If I wanted to get out, I would have. I wanted _you._ I know what I want to be, and it’s Dimitri’s stupid Shield and your stupid husband.”

Saying it out loud, Felix really realized how true it was. Of course he wanted it, or he wouldn’t have married him. But wanting it, agreeing to it, and admitting it were all very different things. That vulnerability was new to him, tender and delicate and a little terrifying. He moved his hand to Sylvain’s hair, fingers tangling in the messy strands and tugging just _enough, _knowing his lover well enough to predict the way he’d look up at him, all dreamy, dark eyes and parted lips, making it so easy for Felix to close the distance between them and kiss him.

As far as he was concerned that was the end of _that _conversation.

He released Sylvain’s hair, the soft moan that escaped his mouth not going unnoticed. Sylvain was so easy it was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. He was… hell, he was handsome in a way that made Felix’s chest tight, a way that never failed to summon a hot, sweet ache between his legs if he thought about him too long… a way that had made him impossibly horny for years and a way that he was going to take full advantage of tonight.

Sylvain’s hands rose from his sides to skim up Felix’s thighs and up to drag across his belly beneath the tunic. “Guess that makes me _your_ stupid husband, too, baby.”

Felix rolled his eyes and threw one leg over Sylvain’s lap, lowering himself to straddle him and wind his arms around Sylvain’s broad shoulders. Sylvain’s hands found easy purchase on Felix’s hips, pushing up the long tunic he wore to get skin to skin, and where Felix expected chilled fingertips there was the warm, almost _hot _drag of those familiar fingers across skin that already felt too sensitive.

Sylvain rested his chin against Felix’s shoulder, blinking up at him and winking as his hands ran up his front, thumbing idly over the bottom of the tightly bound fabric obscuring his chest. He wanted him bare, if Felix was comfortable, wanted to look down at him and see nothing between them but the air they set on fire when they looked at each other, and Felix must have gotten the message, because he grasped the hem of the tunic and tugged it over his head. He threw it somewhere behind him and quirked a brow at him as his hands resumed their posts on his shoulders. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Baby, I wanna make you feel good,” Sylvain said, mouthing kisses against Felix’s throat as he slowly ran his hand up and down Felix’s side. “Want us both to feel good.”

Panting, Felix pulled back and reached to undo the binding, grunting in frustration when it didn’t unravel perfectly and tearing it off in impatience to let it fall to the floor. Sylvain soothed him by sucking lightly on his collarbone as his hands slid to Felix’s hips, urging him into a slow, steady grind, pressing them together. It was chilly, but Felix was still wearing his summer leggings and Sylvain could feel him, hot and needy and a perfect complement to the bulge in his trousers.

Felix shoved Sylvain off of him, apologizing for the shock with a hungry kiss, the rock of his hips a well-practiced, teasing grind. He sucked on Sylvain’s lower lip as he bore down against him, getting enough friction from the press of his cock against his cunt even through multiple layers of clothes. His blunt nails dragged across Sylvain’s shoulders as their hungry kisses muffled their moans, making Sylvain’s entire body shake. _Good._

Felix was wet with desire by the time Sylvain got a hand between his legs, and when he made a small noise that was half approval, half surprise, Felix arched a brow and scoffed, “What, surprised? Are you that astounded you can get a guy wet?”

Sylvain shot him a playful pout and pressed a finger against his clit. He wanted to say, “_No, I’m so astounded every time by how much you can pretend to not want it when your cunt is this wet,” _but what little brain power he had left that wasn’t currently focused on _fuckFelixissofuckingsexy _told him that probably wasn’t a great idea. Felix was in a _mood_, and he’d learned few lessons more important than to chase after that when it’s offered.

Felix didn’t wait for a response, tugging his fingers through Sylvain’s hair as his lover kissed down his chest with equal parts reverence and passion, lips making his skin feel fever hot in their wake. “Because you shouldn’t be. This is nothing new.”

That made something hot coil in the pit of Sylvain’s belly, dick twitching against Felix’s thigh, and Felix smirked at him for a moment before he leaned down to kiss him again. There was a desperation in it, in Felix grinding down against Sylvain like he already had his cock inside of him and wanted it deeper still.

He closed his hand around Sylvain’s wrist and dragged it between his legs and Sylvain wasted no time in working his hand beneath his waistband. He could barely touch him properly in this position. It was an uncomfortable, awkward angle to work his hand into and it hurt his wrist like hell to be crushed between their bodies as Felix rocked against him, but it was worth it for the way the roll of his hips let him slide his fingers inside nice and easy. Felix was so slick that it made his breath catch in his throat, wet and slippery and so _hot _inside, his clit impossibly hard when he grazed his fingers across it. Two fingers slid in easy and Felix scoffed into the join of their mouths, pulling back and panting. His hair had come out of its confines (and for once, it wasn’t Sylvain’s fault, having fallen from its tie when he’d yanked the tunic over his head) and he looked half-fucked already.

“Is this really how we’re going to spend our wedding night?” Felix growled when a swipe of Sylvain’s lance-calloused fingertip made his hips jerk. “With you groping and finger fucking me like we’re teenagers?”

He slung his arms loose around Sylvain’s broad shoulders, stilling at he looked down at him, daring him to keep it up, daring him to stretch him around another finger.

(Begging him to.)

“Fuck, no,” Sylvain answered with an easy smile. “First I’m gonna get you nice and desperate for it, fuck you open on my fingers and then I’ll lay you down… kiss you all over, show you how much you mean to me, how happy and how damn _lucky _I am to be your husband and maybe _then_ I’ll think about -“

“Yeah, yeah,” Felix interrupted, waving his hand dismissively even as he bit back a moan when Sylvain’s fingers curled inside of him. “But are you going to fuck me at any point or just parrot some lines from your bawdy poetry?”

So fucking impatient.

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, thumb circling Felix’s clit. “Yeah, Fe. I’m gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so good you’re never gonna forget the feel of your husband.”

He was doing it again. Running his mouth, trying to wrap his head around _husband. _He kept saying that, the way you said a word so much it didn’t even seem real anymore. But this _did_.

“All I ever wanted was you,” Sylvain said. “Do you understand that? It used to make me so - _ah_ \- mad that I couldn’t have you. That my dad wanted a life for me that wasn’t you.”

“Shut _up, _Sylvain,” Felix said, reaching between them to get a hand on Sylvain’s dick, deft fingers trailing the hard line of it against his thigh and palming over the head.

“I mean it. I knew it. Remember what I said about fucking up so much you can’t go back? That’s how I felt. I felt like you wouldn’t actually want me and if I couldn’t have you then I might as well just not let anyone ever really have me.”

“You mean that? Do you swear it?” Felix paused, then, like he was about to reveal a secret, his voice softening. “On our promise?”

Sylvain nodded. “Yeah, Felix.”

Felix grabbed a fistful of Sylvain’s collar to yank him close, faces inches apart. “Then you’d better fuck me like you mean it.”

_Goddess. _Oh, fuck, if there was one thing that always went straight south, it was Felix talking _like that. _Felix was always crass, and had been for years, but it was just something different when the _fuck_ was followed by a _me _and if he was being completely honest, it kind of made his brain stop working. Sylvain’s dick was so hard it hurt like hell, threatening to bust right out of the lacings of his pants. Luckily, it didn’t get the chance to, because Felix’s hand slipped into his pants and palmed him, rough finger gliding over the head of his cock in a way that made him shudder.

“Fe,” Sylvain panted, his tongue doing that thing where it felt sluggish and stupid, incapable of a sentence. “Bed.”

Felix knew he had a thing for strength, even more for skill. It was pretty appealing that Dimitri was freakishly strong and could toss him around the bedroom when he needed, but it was beyond sexy that even Sylvain had gotten big and broad and could lift him like it was nothing. Sylvain crossed the space between the chair they’d been occupying and the edge of the bed, trying to contend with Felix’s impatient hands practically tearing at his pants to free his cock. He was glad for it, because at that point he’d dripped so much precum that those pants were a total loss.

Holding Felix, Sylvain crawled awkwardly onto the bed and laid him down, choosing to ignore a disgruntled huff when he jostled him. Felix lifted his hips to tug off his leggings and underwear, launching them into the growing pile scattered across the floor as he looked up at him, crimson eyes flashing passion alongside a challenge. Sylvain slotted against him, fitting easily between his legs and soaking up the sharp inhale when the swollen head of his bare cock bumped against Felix’s wet hole.

Goddess, it felt amazing, and he almost wanted to (and knew he could) just slide his dick against that slick, eager space until they both came. It wasn’t like it would be the first time they just rubbed off on each other.

“Where’s your flowery words now?” Felix teased even as he was moaning from the friction. He sat up on his elbows and reached between them for Sylvain’s cock, palm twisting as he stroked him down to the base and back up again, fingers playing deftly across the slit. “Do they all just go out the window when you get to rub your dick against me?”

Sylvain nodded, too horny to say anything beyond the truth, easing his hands to either side of Felix’s head and ducking to kiss him: his neck, the line of his jaw, his chapped, parted lips. Felix coaxed Sylvain’s tongue against his own again with an ease built on years of practice, moaning into the juncture of their mouths when Sylvain bucked forward and his dick slipped against where he wanted him.

And fuck, did Felix want him. He knew Sylvain had never been one to just stick it in and that fact had never been as much of a problem as it was now. It was the journey and not the destination that got Sylvain off, the slow rise of pleasure that built and crested and burned. It was making his partner want it, need it, beg for it, come twice before Sylvain even slipped his cock inside. Felix had always been the opposite - he wasn’t there to be teased, he was there to get his cunt filled or get his clit sucked while Sylvain’s fingers stroked him from the inside out.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Felix said; spreading his legs to more easily accommodate Sylvain’s bulk between them, fingers glossy with his own arousal as he nudged the head of Sylvain’s cock against his hole. It was hard and heavy against him and even just the tip was such a stretch already, but he needed more. He’d waited all night; he’d sat through the ceremony and the reception when all he wanted to do was get Sylvain on top of him.

“‘Need you _now.”_

Sylvain liked it like this: Felix calling the shots, taking what he wanted, telling him that he needed him. Sylvain needed him, too. He needed the wet heat of him around his cock, needed every tremor and shudder that shook through his fit, perfect body, needed to commit every blissful expression on his pretty face as he sank his cock inside. The feel of Felix’s body, the sight of Felix spread open on his cock, the small sigh of relief as he was filled… it all made Sylvain dizzy.

“Hold on, hold on,” he groaned, fist clenched in the furs on Felix’s bed as his hips shook with the effort of not moving, of not folding Felix near in half and fucking into him until he was limp and senseless with pleasure. “You feel so good I’m gonna come if I don’t, ah, wait a second…”

“Already? Is that seriously the best you can do?” Felix teased, provoking him. Sylvain looked impossibly handsome like this, big and broad, looking down at him

“Pathetic,” he huffed, only to try and hide how looking at his new husband made him ache with need.

He laughed low, lifting his leg to hook it over Sylvain’s shoulder, coaxing his cock deeper. He’d play Sylvain’s game, fine. He’d let him drag it out, let him walk him to the bed instead of letting Felix hold him down and ride him hard on that chair, but he was done waiting. Sylvain hung his head, pressing kisses to the inside of his thigh, and when Felix met his gaze again, his eyes were a dark, forbidden amber.

“Felix… !” Sylvain whined. “Do you have any idea how good you feel?”

Felix swallowed hard to still his wavering voice, wriggling so Sylvain’s cock angled differently inside of him, just a little deeper, and said, “Probably about as good as I’ve felt the other hundreds of times you’ve stuck it in? Fuck me, Syl.”

Sylvain shook his head, drawing back enough for his cock to _almost_ slip past the hot, wet clutch of Felix’s cunt before slamming back in to get a sound out of him. He pulled out, letting his cock slide against the impossible slickness of him, letting it grind against Felix’s until a needy shudder racked through his body. Felix swore to everything he stood for that if Sylvain dared to shoot him arrogant grin and ask _like that?_ he’d commit mariticide this very night.

“No, baby. Better,” Sylvain said, settling easily into a steady rhythm, hips slapping against Felix’s thighs, fucking him in earnest because every flash of Felix’s eyes was a challenge, every quiet moan made him want to make him louder. “Because I’ve never stuck it in my _husband._”

Felix was going to kill him. He was so stupid, so obnoxious, so insufferable and _hell_, was he thick, really just the perfect size to stretch him and fill him, long enough that it was almost _too much_ just the way he liked. Sylvain’s thumb on his clit was a blessing, circling it in a delicious rhythm, giving him just the right amount of pressure and delicious friction as his thick cock fucked him open.

“Come inside,” Felix ordered when Sylvain’s hips went jerky and his breath grew labored, digging his foot into Sylvain’s hip and trapping him in an embrace neither one of them really wanted out of. When Sylvain hesitated, Felix sighed and panted irritably, “I’ll drink some of those... disgusting herbs in the tea in the morning. _Come inside._”

Sylvain couldn’t be blamed. When a guy as hot as Felix Hugo Fraldarius-Gautier told you to come inside, you follow that order. You give him everything you’ve got, and Sylvain had always preferred following to leading. He set back to Felix’s clit with renewed fervor, thumbing over it, making him shudder and clench around him with every breath as he felt his release approaching. They could come together, he thought, not something he’d typically care about but something that he craved tonight, some sense of good fortune for their wedding night.

Before Sylvain was even spilling inside of him, Felix was clenching vice-tight around him, his climax ripping through him with a shudder and a tremulous moan. Sylvain never said no when Felix asked for that, the fervent roll of his hips stilled to a lazy stutter after he’d emptied inside. He felt lightheaded, balls aching from how hard he’d come, looking down at Felix. They’d hardly fucked, it felt like (this certainly hadn’t set any records for their sex lives) and Felix looked absolutely debauched, chest heaving and legs trembling, his long hair a tangled mess on the pillow.

Sylvain jumped up, wincing when he pulled out and the chill of the night air wrapped around his slick dick, grabbing a washcloth from the bedside table and wiping himself off. He tossed it to Felix, who wiped a few errant drips of cum off his thigh and threw it at him. Crawling back into bed, Sylvain slotted up behind him, tugging Felix back and curling his arms around him. He moaned when his cock rubbed against the curve of Felix’s ass, soft and over-sensitive. He’d done that on purpose, Sylvain knew, so he returned the favor by ghosting fingers down Felix’s belly, stopping just shy of his cunt, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his scarred shoulder as he teased a finger up the still-slick folds of him.

“I’ll kill you.” Felix growled, grabbing Sylvain’s wrist and lacing their fingers, resting them flat against his belly. Sylvain felt like all the air had been snatched from his lungs, heart fluttering up into his throat, snuggling up to Felix’s back as he rubbed his finger instead over the deep blue green of the gemstone set into Felix’s ring. He buried his face in Felix’s hair, long and tousled and damp with sweat as it lay against his nape and sighed out a thanks that they’d both survived the war, that Dimitri had given them his blessing, that they were here, together, that he had a matching wedding ring on his own finger.

Felix was grateful that Sylvain was too tired to talk. Too tired from the day; the celebration, the sex, because it made it easier to just… be. Felix had always preferred talking with his body over his words. It was that way with his swordplay, it was that way with sex, and he didn’t see a reason to change anytime soon. Bodies couldn’t lie… there was no room for misinterpretations or doubt. He could tell Sylvain that he loved him in ways that didn’t sound stupid or contrived, and even if Sylvain talked out his ass and couldn’t get his words strung together in a coherent way, Felix could still feel everything in even the barest touch of his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sylvain laughed. “I know you will, Fe. Love you.”

“Shut up. You, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am [tsunderestorm](twitter.com/tsunderestorm) on twitter ♥


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